The Other End of the Cracker
by El Leon Y La Oveja
Summary: "My first love had been Tom Riddle. I just wasn't sure that I could ever admit to it." Ginny Weasley gave her heart to a young, handsome and sensitive young man. How could she have known that she'd fallen in love with a teenage Voldemort? GW/TR & GW/HP


It wasn't just an obsession. It was far more than that. I didn't just think about him, I dreamed that we were talking and writing to each other. Reality blurred with my fantasy and I knew I'd fallen deeper than any eleven year old ever should. His power should have scared me from the start but it didn't. It was more than having a pen pal, more than having a best friend and more than having a twin. He was there whenever I wanted to talk, whenever I needed to talk and whenever I had to talk. The other girls in my dormitory thought that I was weird because I kept myself to myself. I was surprised at how unsociable I could be. An entire evening would pass as I wrote in the diary and read his replies. It was only when someone called out goodnight that I realised that I was still in my school uniform with unfinished homework and nothing to show for the five hours I'd spent alone with the hangings drawn.

I remember the first time that Tom ever showed me a memory. It was his first train journey to Hogwarts. He was sitting alone in a compartment on the train, shy and scared. If only I could have been there too, to befriend him and stop the both of us from feeling so lonely. In the Great Hall, he remembered how loud it was and how the cheerful voices and laughter rang in his ears and made him jealous of everyone who already had friends. Tom didn't like talking about his background but I knew that he'd had a difficult time before Hogwarts. He never went home at Christmas or Easter and I'd seen flashes of his Christmas days alone in the Great Hall, quietly eating dinner with no one to pull the other end of the cracker.

It was strange how I could fall in love with someone I'd never really met. There was no romantic element to our conversations but still, I felt as though every single word exchanged was sacred and secret. It was far more than the schoolgirl crush I'd had on Harry Potter because Harry was only real and he didn't share my deepest fears and desires and he didn't write to me in the middle of the night when I was homesick and alone. Tom was undoubtedly real and I saw the proof that he'd lived. I saw the memories and he allowed me to see deeper into his soul than I'd ever be able to see into anyone's. In the back of my mind, I wondered where the adult version of Tom was. I didn't even know how much older than me he was. All I knew was the teenage boy and his ambitions, his hopes and dreams and fears and wishes. He understood me better than I understood myself. What more could a girl have asked for?

When people were petrified and I couldn't remember what I'd been doing, I began to feel scared and even Tom couldn't say enough to reassure me. The diary wasn't a comfort anymore and I tried to destroy it. Harry found it. Whether or not he was as addicted to writing back as I was, I never found out. I was also sure in the back of my mind that Harry would have been clever enough to realise that something wasn't quite right with the diary. It had such an unusual hold over me that I never doubted or questioned until the end. After a while, I became desperate to talk to Tom again. Once I'd stolen the diary back, everything was alright for a few days. I had my friend and confidant back and I didn't see how dangerous the diary was. My mind was blank and I couldn't remember again.

When I woke up, I was cold and dying and Tom Riddle had won. The last thing I saw was his eyes gloating, smirking and mocking me. Despite everything, I was happy to be inside the memory with him. I could feel his presence- his real presence in a physical form and I was almost grateful to be dying at the feet of the boy who'd changed my life forever. I blacked out as I heard myself whisper his name. I wanted it to be the last word that I ever said.

It all came crashing down when I awoke, still alive, with Harry Potter having saved my life. Tom Riddle was dead. I was forced to face the terrible truth. I'd fallen in love with a teenage Voldemort. Appearances could be deceiving. The old cliché 'don't judge a book by its cover' had never been more appropriate.

The one thing that I never told Harry was that my first love had been Tom Marvolo Riddle. I just wasn't sure that I could ever admit to it.


End file.
